


anything that's worth my love (is worth the fight)

by archetypically



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Nova (Comics)
Genre: Annihilation (Marvel), Cancerverse, Fuck Bendis canon anyway, I didn't bother to reread the Bendis issues before I wrote this, M/M, Post-Annihilation, Relationship Study, So I took some liberties, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archetypically/pseuds/archetypically
Summary: “You’re crazy.”“Maybe.” Peter shrugs in response, and after a moment, he actuallysmirksthrough the blood trickling from his bottom lip. “But it worked, didn’t it?”There’s a part of Rich that’s definitely pissed, but the rest of him can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.
Relationships: Peter Quill/Richard Rider
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	anything that's worth my love (is worth the fight)

_i._

Peter Quill is a strange guy.

It’s not the most profound assessment, but it’s about the best that Rich has, even after almost three months of working with him. Just by looking at him, you’d think that he’d be one of those painfully serious guys out of an old movie, dark, brooding, and mysterious. But over time, it becomes clear that, in a lot of ways, he’s the opposite; he seems to come to life more and more by the day, a ghost of a smile here, something like a bad joke there, a lot of offhand comments that seemingly come out of nowhere but somehow prove to be completely relevant.

Rich finds that his eyes have developed a tendency to linger on Peter for probably longer than they should, as if just _staring will_ somehow get him closer to figuring the guy out.

That’s it. Nothing more to it than that.

There’s no real reason that he’s continuing to watch as Peter walks away, and —

“Richard.” He’s still not used to the voice that’s now a part of him, yet he can't imagine life without it, either, somehow. (It’s not entirely a bad thing; he’ll take his comforts where he can get them, even if said comforts have an annoying habit of always waking him up in the middle of a few precious hours of sleep.) “I have found that your heart rate increases by an average of twelve percent whenever you are in the proximity of Peter Quill. I am analyzing — ”

“Shut up, Worldmind,” he cuts in flatly, but the words don’t leave his mind for weeks afterward.

_ii._

Worldmind had calculated this plan’s probability of success to sit somewhere at approximately four percent, but Rich had thought _that_ had been generous.

Direct assault has pretty much never been an option against the Annihilation Wave up to this point; this whole thing has been a game of finding the best time to evacuate civilians, and then retreat. He’d _like_ for that to not be true, sure, because, well, maybe he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have in his high school history classes, but he’s pretty sure no one has ever won a war purely through retreats. Even so, though, the fact is that even in the best case scenario of the United Front not running on basically a skeleton crew of troops, they’d still be massively overpowered, outgunned, and everything else.

But Peter had been right; something had to change to turn the tide, and this had been their best opportunity to strike. The crazy son of a schlag had just decided to do it himself before anyone else could argue.

That’s the long and short of how Rich had gotten here, crouched on the ground next to a second-in-command who had also just given them the biggest advantage they’ve had in months by putting himself in the blast radius of a well-placed bomb. And said second-in-command is still in one piece, somehow; a little worse for the wear, judging by the way he favors his right side as he tries to lift his body into a sitting position, but nothing that won’t see a full recovery.

There are about a million things on Rich’s mind, but each one gets away at light speed before he can grab on, and all he’s left with is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that hasn’t managed to disappear. He swallows down the dryness in his throat, and when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is:

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” Peter shrugs in response, and after a moment, he actually _smirks_ through the blood trickling from his bottom lip. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

There’s a part of Rich that’s definitely pissed, but the rest of him can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

(And, okay, he can’t lie; he probably would’ve done the same thing.)

Peter Quill may, truly, be the craziest man he’s ever met in his life, but there’s a possibility that they could win this whole damn war because of him.

_iii._

They’ve managed to gain some ground, but Krelar still falls.

It’s a brutal loss, probably the _most_ brutal in a whole war full of them; a hidden horde of the Wave had decimated thousands of civilians before they could even retreat, and those who’d been left of the United Front had barely made it off the planet themselves. They’re all shaken, deeply, and Rich had ordered everyone to tend to their wounds and get some sleep before reconvening at the end of the night cycle.

An order he knows he won’t follow himself.

He tries, though, for a time, tries to lie back on his pillow in his quarters and shut his eyes; he can go without rest longer than most, but even with the entire Nova Force inside him, he’s still pushing his limits. But when he does, he sees Kree falling on all sides, hears their screams as they do. He sees Xandar dying around him, just as he has in his mind’s eye. Death, just death, and even with all this power, he’s always helpless to do nothing but watch it happen….

His feet hit the floor, wander the corridors aimlessly, until they end up at the door of Peter’s quarters.

It opens before he can even knock.

They stand there for a time in silence, Peter looking as lost and haunted as he feels. There’s nothing to say, anyway; no platitudes will bring the planet back, gallows humor can only go so far, and with both of those options gone, well. That’s it.

Except —

Peter leans in and presses his mouth to Rich’s, and Rich doesn’t take the time to think about what’s happening, instead pulling Peter’s body as close to his as possible. They stumble through the doorway like this, a tangle of lips and hands searching for some kind of solid reassurance.

It doesn’t make anything _better_, because there’s nothing that can, but by the time Rich wakes up after managing a couple of hours of sleep, head resting on Peter’s bare chest and the rhythmic thud of a heartbeat in his ear, he thinks he can stand on solid enough ground to take a next step.

_iv._

_“Let me buy you a beer”_ had turned into three over the past hour, with a fourth probably soon to come, and while Rich feels guilty about it on some level, Peter continues to insist. It’s returning the favor, he says, for the tip about Knowhere, which has proven to be a pretty good base for his team, some hiccups aside. And:

“You look like you need it more than I do.”

After the — week, month, six months, _year_? — he’s had, he can’t really find it in him to argue.

Starlin’s has most of its usual clientele this evening, the loud, violent crowd that sees at least three bar fights broken up before it’s forced to disperse. A few broken bottles fly past their table at various points through this, but they’re otherwise left alone; being a war hero commands some respect in certain ways.

“I went back,” Rich finds himself saying a time after the bar quiets down, swirling the mug in his hand absently. “To Earth, I mean. First time since everything went down.”

Peter turns in his seat, attention fully focused on him, something like concern in his eyes (both human, no cybernetics anywhere, which is still taking some getting used to). He doesn’t say anything, and Rich takes that as his cue to continue.

“It was like…” He trails off, and it takes him a moment to commit to a train of thought. “No one even cared. The universe as we know it was almost gone, and all anyone could think about was fighting among themselves. This whole damn galactic war happening right above their heads, and nothing even changed for them.”

It all has a bitter taste coming out of his mouth, more than he’d actually intended it to, but he can’t deny that now that it’s out there, he feels like a massive weight has been taken off of his chest. He feels — _better_, somehow.

“But.” Rich drains the rest of the contents his mug after a beat. “Home is home, you know.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and Rich thinks it sounds a little distant. “Home is home.” He reaches a hand toward one of Rich’s, gives it a brief squeeze before letting go.

Maybe it’s the fourth beer he’s now starting, but Rich has a wild thought that right here, right now, he could feel more at home than he has anywhere in a long time.

_v._

It’s so quiet that the sound of Rich’s own breathing pounds in his ears. For a reality where life has supposedly won, it seems awfully dead; visibility stretches for miles on end, and as far as he can tell, there isn’t a single sign of movement anywhere. Worldmind’s report from his helmet’s scanners chime in at the thought, but confirm what he already knew.

He peels off his helmet, because everything’s getting too stuffy. He thinks it shouldn’t surprise him that that doesn’t provide any kind of relief.

Next to him, Peter kicks the Cosmic Cube on the ground, and it clinks against an outcropping of rock.

“Thing’s dead,” he says, voice still breathless from their last seemingly never-ending encounter with the Revengers, from dying and being resurrected repeatedly. (Turns out, that kind of thing can take a toll. Who knew.) “Next time they come back, we’re gonna get our asses kicked even worse.”

Rich’s eyes drop to the ground, drift over to the Cube and stay there as something starts to occur to him. It’d had one shot, sure, and they’d already blown it, but what if a source of massive power could charge it again? What if — “Maybe not.”

He’s trapped here, probably forever; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He accepts it, too, because he’d known his choices when he’d followed Peter in here, and if he could do everything all over again, he wouldn’t change any of them. Robbie, his mom and dad, every single being on countless worlds are safe. That’s what matters.

But before _that_ door is shut for good, he can open another. One he himself can’t walk through, because someone has to hold it; it’s the only way.

Peter deserves so much more than being stuck here in a barren wasteland, fighting and dying and coming back to life again, and again, and _again_. He deserves a chance to live in the universe that he’d helped to save. And Rich can give him that; it’s the least he owes him. For everything.

He bends down to gently lift the Cosmic Cube with the tips of his fingers.

“Rich — ?” It seems to dawn on Peter before he can even finish the question, and out of the corner of his eye, Rich can see Peter’s widen in horror. “Rich, wait.”

He closes his eyes and concentrates, tuning out the screams and everything else around him.

“Rich!”

Nova Force rips through his cells, and it feels almost warm.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i read comics and cry


End file.
